Chapter 37 #2
It should have horrified her.
Instead, it ached .
She thought of the way he always let Kaelen shine. How he stepped back, not because he lacked the light, but because he had been made to believe he didn’t deserve to stand in it.
Tazahriv—Lesser Prince.
Not just a title, but a sentence. A shaping blade.
And he had borne it, out of love for his brother.
Her fingers curled into her skirts, grief welling for the boy who had nearly been broken—and the man who still carried him inside.
Alarik let out a ragged breath, gaze drifting back to Kaelen. “But I didn’t. I lowered the bow.” He dragged a hand over his face. “And when you turned around and smiled at me . . . you just reached for my hand. Like you always did. Trusted me. Like I was the best damn brother in the world.”
Silence stretched again—long, taut, and heavy—until a sharp inhale cut through the hush.
“What are you . . . going on about? ”
Kaelen’s voice was hoarse, frayed at the edges, but it was all him . Reiya’s heart stopped. His eyes barely opened, lashes flickering weakly against his pallid skin, yet his words landed with quiet certainty.
“I knew you were there,” he murmured. “That day . . . in the woods.”
Beside the cot, Alarik froze. His eyes widened, as if the floor had tilted beneath him. “You knew ?”
The words scraped out of him, brittle and uneven, like something long buried was finally tearing free.
And somehow, Kaelen managed the ghost of a grin—a faint flicker of mischief, worn and threadbare, but there all the same. The boy Reiya imagined he must’ve been.
“Of course, I knew.” Kaelen’s whisper carried the weight of years. “Why do you think I followed you? I wanted my brother.” He swallowed hard, his throat working visibly. “Why do you think I was brave enough to enter the forest? I knew you were watching.”
Alarik looked stricken. “But I . . . I had my arrow drawn. It was pointed at you.”
Kaelen’s gaze drifted toward the ceiling. For a long, aching moment, he said nothing.
“Even if you let it fly, I . . . wouldn’t have moved. I would’ve thought I deserved it . . . for bringing you so much pain.”
His confession echoed through her, an aching squeeze in her chest. She couldn’t look away—watching as the cracks in both of them split wider.
Alarik’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Kaelen?—”
“But you didn’t shoot. You could have. Instead, you stepped out of the bushes, took my hand, and brought me back.”
Reiya saw Alarik’s hands curl into fists on his thighs, knuckles pale.
Kaelen turned his head, as if the effort cost him everything, and met his brother’s eyes again.
“I’ve always known I was a weight you never asked for,” he said quietly. “And yet you still chose me. Over yourself. Over your mother. You always chose me, Alarik.”
Something broke in Alarik’s face—a sharp exhale, like the air had been knocked from his lungs .
“I didn’t deserve your trust.”
“You earned it. You showed me I wasn’t alone. Even when I thought I was nothing but a burden . . . you stayed.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. It swelled, thick with all the things neither had ever said aloud. Reiya sat in the middle of it, holding her breath, as if any sound might shatter what was mending between them.
At last, Alarik leaned forward. His hand, trembling, settled on Kaelen’s arm.
“I should’ve told you,” he whispered. “I should’ve?—”
“Stop,” Kaelen cut in softly. “You let me go that day. Why can’t you do the same for yourself?”
The question lingered, unanswered, as Alarik lowered his gaze, shoulders taut.
Kaelen shifted slightly, wincing as the movement tugged at his wound.
“When Anna?s betrayed us, you chose me again,” he murmured, his voice steady despite the weight in it. “And I chose you too, Alarik. That day I left . . . I left for you.”
He exhaled, gaze flickering between them before settling on her, something raw and unguarded gleaming in his golden depths.
“But now . . .” His voice softened, the words no more than a whisper. “Now, we don’t need to choose anymore.”
A pause. A heartbeat.
Then—softer, quieter, meant only for her. “Do we, Sáel?”
The question settled over her, quiet but inescapable. She had crossed oceans and deserts, run from fate, fought against instinct—terrified of what choosing might demand of her.
But sitting here, caught between their waiting gazes, she finally understood.
There was nothing to fear.
Because this was never about surrender. Never about sacrifice.
It had always been love . Not the kind bound by duty or dictated by instinct, not something she had to justify or resist.
Fearing the pact felt foolish now—after everything they’d endured, the idea of choosing one brother over the other wasn’t just impossible. It was unthinkable.
How could she choose between the sun and the moon, when both were essential to life? When both mattered—one fierce and brilliant, the other steady and constant?
She didn’t know when she had chosen them both —only that she had.
And she would do so again and again.
Her hands trembled slightly as she reached out, threading her fingers through theirs. She felt the warmth of their palms, the strength of their hold—steady, grounding, hers .
“No more choosing,” she agreed softly, her voice steady despite the emotion swelling in her chest.
Kaelen exhaled, a slow, aching breath, his fingers tightening around hers.
She glanced at Alarik, whose eyes had shifted from Kaelen to her. His fingers curled around hers, his grip hesitant at first—like he was afraid of what it meant.
But then, he held on, squeezing harder.
When his gaze lifted, she saw it all: the man behind the walls, the strength built from shadow, the unwavering devotion he had carried in silence. And in that moment, she wondered how she’d ever mistaken this bond for a cage, when it had always been the thing ready to set her free.
Alarik’s lips parted, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, as though something had been unlocked within him, the faintest smile broke through—real, unburdened, warm.
“No more choosing,” he murmured, voice thick.
His smile deepened as his gaze lingered on her, and for the first time, she saw hope there—a fragile but growing light. It mirrored the one blooming in her own chest, a promise that this, whatever they were building, was stronger than the forces that had once held them apart.
They’d spent so long being afraid—of their instincts, of their pasts, of this thread pulling them together.
But there was no fear in this. Only certainty. Only them.
Together, they were whole .